


Desperation

by FoiblePNoteworthy



Series: Guilt (The Jet Adopts Zuko AU) [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst, Emotions, Even if it kills him, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective!Jet, Starvation, Trust Issues, Zuko Has Issues, because pride and fear, because zuko, but this is more fun, hand wavy sword fights, he doesn't know how to have healthy relationships, i promise i love him and want him to be happy, im sorry, jet wants to look after everyone, vaguely post Zuko Alone, zuko might be a bit ooc because he's sadder, zuko wants to be left alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22120114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoiblePNoteworthy/pseuds/FoiblePNoteworthy
Summary: Jet comes across a half-starved refugee, one terrified of whatever could hide behind kindness. In need of a truly good deed to his name, Jet will stop at nothing to add him to his group.Set Post Zuko Alone.
Relationships: Freedom Fighters & Zuko (Avatar), Jet & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Guilt (The Jet Adopts Zuko AU) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557868
Comments: 132
Kudos: 1439
Collections: A Labyrinth of Fics, Finished111, avataner, avatar tingz





	1. Hunger

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Byroads](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3948466) by [EudociaCovert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EudociaCovert/pseuds/EudociaCovert). 



> To newcomers: sorry for any confusion, this is a prequel (?) to my other works in this series (not really a prequel I'm more just writing this out of order I'm sorry). Y'all can read the others while you wait for the rest of this and it's probably not spoilers, like it won't spoil the exact plot of this one, but maybe the ending? But like reading their summaries would spoil it roughly the same amount so... I'll leave it up to you and (once more with feeling)  
> I'm sorry again for that  
> (Also yeah I moved the 'inspired by' bit from the second part to this one just because having it at the start makes more sense.)
> 
> So why am I writing in the wrong order? I got to the end of 'letting go' and said to myself 'hey so I need to explain why they all care about each other so much' so this is the start of that. I said 5 chapters in the bit where you say (I don't know the word for it), but that's just a rough estimate for right now. I can already see that this is going to be longer than my original 12K words estimate (sigh). 
> 
> Sorry this took so long btw, I didn't really want to start it because I knew it was going to be huge, and I ended up starting a side project (Zuko convinces the gaang he's his twin brother, Li; it's a comedy (ish) and therefore easier to write; I promise it's fun if you guys wanna check it out). 
> 
> also. um. Exams. so yeah. But it's here now and that's the main thing.

Two weeks spent foraging in unfamiliar territory and walking until their aches had aches was enough to make anyone crave a simple hot meal and a real table to eat it at.

The trio of the remaining Freedom Fighters had chosen to take their meal outside to enjoy the sunlight (to avoid the walls that seemed to shrink; how many years had they spent under the sun and stars?) and to watch the simple comings and goings of the little village around them (to keep an eye out for red clothes and cruel smiles).

Longshot spotted the boy first: set up high on an ostrich horse, with something about the way he held himself raising flags in his mind. He ran an assessing eye over him, noting the stiffness of his back, the slump of his shoulders; the guarded expression and drooping eyes; the hard muscle and hollow cheeks. He was a juxtaposition of weary and wary.

(Why did anyone even bother with _words_ when they chose to do things like _that_?)

The swords slung over his shoulder, carefully cared for (again, _why?_ ) only piqued his interest, as did the scar (too large and too angry, swallowing most of his face) that suggested an unseen number more, some invisible to the eye.

(Like needles under the skin, nipping too often to be ignored. Jet would pinch them until they pierced a new wound and finally left; more painful at the moment but soon able to heal.)

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Jet spotting him, freezing in place to watch and likely noting the same things that he had.

At the life he saw laid before him, he let out an audible sigh of fond exasperation. This was rare enough to catch Smellerbee’s attention.

She glanced at him, a question in the tilt of her head. (Longshot always appreciated it when she spoke his language.) He replied with a tilt of his head towards Jet, then the stranger, his fingers tapping out a specific pattern.

She looked up, saw him, and realised as quickly as he had.

Longshot exchanged a glance with her across the table. Deliberately slowly, he raised a single eyebrow in amusement, mentally counting down the seconds before Jet would begin his welcoming speech.

Three… Two… One…

The teen passed them without incident, watching just long enough to assess for threats. He kept his head subtly turned so that his better ear was more towards them. Longshot chose to take that as a compliment.

He lowered the eyebrow, turning from one boy to watch the other.

Longing, quickly hidden. Frowning. A twitch as he forced himself to turn his back. A hand gripped chopsticks too tightly.

Jet wanted to take the boy in, add him to his collection of lost kids. There was never any doubt about that. So why..? Longshot looked a little more closely. Jet's doubts were written across his face, clearer than any words would express.

_Was it right for him to take on more kids when he could barely support the two he had? Was he even suitable for the task when it had been only months since he’d lost nearly all of those he’d had before?_

Longshot had long since accepted that Jet would keep adding to them. (The other boy didn’t know any other way to live.) He’d been rather looking forwards to it actually - the new person would be a clean slate, uninvolved in what they’d done or lost; and Jet needed a new purpose after he’d lost his way, before. The best way for him to help himself was for him to help someone else, feel like he was doing _good_ again.

Jet was no good for anyone when he only had himself to look after, and Longshot and Smellerbee had been with him for far too long to be of much use to him like that.

(That was a good thing, obviously, but Jet needed to deal with his incessant mothering instincts _somehow_.)

The boy stopped to tie up his ostrich-horse outside the only eatery in the village, only a few metres from them. In one smooth move, practised and comfortable, he slipped his swords from his shoulder to his hip, easier to grab from rest.

He hesitated at the entrance, ear still turned towards their group, hand curled tightly in the rope holding his steed in place. He’d watched them watching him, had probably figured it wasn’t _him_ they were interested in. He couldn’t risk leaving what was likely one of only two things of value he owned.

The man inside must have noticed his indecision. Eager for a customer, he stepped out of the food hall to talk him through his wares, even offering to bring his meal out to him.

“Does your ostrich horse need feed?” The man asked.

A glance at the scruffy creature, slowly; apology in a soft touch to its feathers. A single coin was gripped tightly between calloused fingers. “I need it more.” His tone was hard, as though that could disguise his gentle movements.

Jet flinched. He wasn’t looking at him, but with the three of them silent it was impossible not to hear.

“I’m sorry, son-” the boy flinched audibly, worn shoes scuffing the dry earth beneath them, “-but that’s not enough coin.”

Jet twitched again.

“Do you know about anyone looking for workers?”

“Few ‘round here with the coin to spend on one,” the man’s tone was apologetic, growing more so with his next words. “I know someone who’s looking for an ostrich-horse though. He’d give you a fair price.”

There was a long considering pause.

“Look, if you can’t afford to feed her-”

“I know!” Slightly harsher than before, fingers catching on ungroomed feathers, greasy and limp, barely clinging to loose skin. He softened his grip and his voice. “I know.”

Jet touched a hand to his pocket, full of coin they didn’t need to spend, not when they could live off the land. (Not when they had someone to pick up the slack when one of them faltered.)

“I’ll sweeten the deal,” the man said. “You make the trade and I’ll give you as much as you can eat today and tomorrow free of charge.”

A baffled look; tension in his posture – in his confusion, he felt threatened.

“That coin’d keep you long enough to get somewhere you can make more – I wanna help you, kid, but I won’t waste good food on a corpse-to-be. I see too many of them coming through here.” The man’s voice was gentle and all the more painful for it. He _knew,_ from painful experience, what he was talking about.

“You gotta keep living _after_ now, kid.”

The boy bristled, holding onto the offence for as long as he could, before he deflated.

He turned away from the man, petting his steed’s neck, easily finding her favourite places. She moved with him, beak lowering to preen his short hair. He let out a long breath, frozen for a moment.

Then: “This man… where can I find-”

Jet was out of his seat, stepping past the boy to talk to the man. “Give me the best thing you’ve got to put some meat on a man’s bones.” His tone didn’t allow any disobedience.

The man still took a moment to assess Jet, and gave a solid nod at what he saw. He turned and went inside without asking the boy his opinion.

He was all puffed up again, on the verge of arguing against free food even in his desperation.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, doing the same with his fists by his sides. Eventually, he settled on a hissed, _“What do you want?”_

Jet didn’t hesitate, already knowing not to give him time to panic. “If you know what you’re doing with those swords, I’d appreciate a spar. It’s been a while.”

The boy gave an unconvincing sneer, turning his head to make his scar do the job for him. “I’d rather not waste the energy,” he said, an admittance hidden within the insult.

(He seemed to have decided it was safe to be rude to Jet – or maybe he was testing him the hard way.

After a moment’s thought, Longshot put his mental betting chips on the latter.)

Jet was careful not to mention the debt the boy already owed him – he likely still had half a mind to refuse the food, if he thought it could be used to box him in; if he thought they might try to trick more favours out of him.

“That’s fair,” was what he said instead. “But if you wi- _were to_ win,” he stumbled for a moment, correcting his words so he didn’t appear to assume he was getting his spar, even though he did, “I’d be happy to buy you dinner as well.”

As if his words were a cue, the boy’s stomach grumbled. His jaw clenched, the movement easy to read through the tight skin, as he restrained himself from reacting to the pain in his gut.

He lifted his chin, trying to both keep an eye on Jet (Was he too close? Did he feel threatened?) and on his friends behind him. His hands twitched, likely wishing for his weapons, then clenched into fists to hide the action.

“And if you happened to win?”

Jet gave him an easy smile _(watch your confidence there, Jet),_ “You have dinner with us.” He smirked wider. “My treat.”

The boy flinched at the offer for some reason. He let one hand fall to the hilts of his swords, the other opening and closing beside him. His breathing shifted into a somewhat familiar pattern; long heavy inhales and quick efficient exhales. He narrowed his good eye, the other practically shut as it moved sympathetically.

Ready for any fight his words could incite, he asked, “What do you _really_ want?”

 _(Cut the tiger-bull-shit, Jet, he’s expecting the worst here;_ anything _less than absolute honesty…)_

“You seem like an interesting person,” was Jet’s reply, “who could use some people around him. We’ve been there.”

The boy only tensed further. “I’m just fine as I am. I don’t need you or u- anyone else.”

Jet sidestepped the boy’s near slip, but wouldn’t forget it.

“If you don’t want this to be a favour to yourself – which I _understand_ ,” he added as the boy puffed up again, “If you absolutely _need_ to believe there’s an angle here – and, again, I understand the feeling,” (he didn’t bother promising that there wasn’t one; the boy would either believe him or not and insistence would only breed doubt) “What we want from you is another hand, if we find you to be a decent fit.”

The boy fiddled with the hilt of his sword, hearing the words they didn’t say, and probably some more they didn’t mean. They could clarify later. Here and now, they just needed to hook him in.

They’d rather that the boy trusted their pure intentions, but no one like them believed in the kindness of strangers. If the boy thought he had something that they wanted, that he had some power in the situation along with a way to please them (and protect himself from them in doing so), he would trust them far more, if at an arm’s length, than he would if they had kept promising they wanted nothing from him. He’d only wait for the other shoe to drop, and be ready to bolt the second they turned their backs, fighting like Koh if they tried to fix trust that had never existed.

The boy eyed them for a second longer, before another gurgle of his stomach made his mind up for him. The suspicion didn’t drop from his face, but he let his hand slip from his swords.

“I’ll give you a bout after my meal,” he said, and the trio controlled their expressions. “And I’ll take another meal for my win. That’s all that’s on the table.”

Jet nodded, one boot scuffing the ground as he twisted his foot. “All for _now_?” _Or all overall?_

_(Damnit, Jet, don’t push so hard. He cracked; that’s enough.)_

“We’ll see,” he said, not a yes or a no, but with a slight upward twist to his mouth.

Jet took a step back from him, accepting that for the moment. “Would you join us?” he asked, gesturing to their table, instead of pushing further.

The boy sat himself on the steps next to his ostrich horse without replying, turning his back to them, still facing his good ear towards them. This time Longshot was sure he was pushing Jet, trying to see what would happen if he was rude.

Jet returned to his table and stuck up a casual conversation with Smellerbee, Longshot occasionally interjecting with an expression or a tap of his fingers. They paid no more attention to the boy, giving him a moment to himself to think things over. He listened to them talking, but didn’t react to anything they said.

The minutes passed comfortably.

The man hesitated when he came outside with a thick meaty broth and several slabs of bread; Jet had ordered it, but they both knew it was for the other boy.

The boy solved the problem by grabbing the bowl with a quiet, “Thank you,” and taking it over to the table, sitting himself down next to Longshot. There was a small awkward moment before Jet went back to his conversation, making sure to angle himself partly towards the boy so that he knew he could join in.

He said nothing as he ate, one hand holding his bowl protectively the entire time, but made no effort to hide how he watched and listened.

***

Zuko ate slowly despite his hunger (despite his fear that it would be taken away), knowing that he’d lose it all again if he wasn’t careful. He waited longer after that without speaking to them or moving to stand, half to see if they’d prompt him into fighting (and to see what would happen if he refused), and half to give his body time to process his food properly.

The sun had moved nearly a handspan across the sky, shadows beginning to lengthen on the table between them, when Zuko’s hands had stopped shaking and his vision had cleared (as much as it ever did, at least). He stood to offer a fight, revelling in the ease of movement.

The boy – Jet, presumably the leader – stood with him, trying to hide his assessing look within the motion. Whatever he saw, he didn’t comment on.

They took themselves off to a clear area just outside the village, where they wouldn’t have to worry about damaging anything or worrying the villagers. The other two – Longshot, archer; Smellerbee, owner of too many hidden knives – sat in the dirt a safe distance away.

Zuko tied Song to a nearby house, at an equal distance from them and himself. He knew he’d have to trust that the distance was enough to keep her safe throughout the fight; he’d have no attention to spare for her. Even in a fight between allies (and he wasn’t sure that this _was_ one, not yet anyway), he couldn’t risk taking his eyes off of his opponent.

“To blood?” he asked, unsheathing his swords and taking up a stance, subtly sending a warm rush through his muscles to prepare them, “Or to yield?” He knew he’d have better chances at winning with the second one.

Jet frowned slightly, mirroring him a few metres away. “How about we just get a feel for each other’s style? No need to do any damage.”

Was it that he doubted Zuko’s skill? Did he think him too serious? Was he mocking him? He was certain there was a barb in there somewhere; he just couldn’t find it.

He didn’t ask any of that, instead simply shrugging. The fight was payment for the food, so Jet was in charge here (as much as that grated). “Whatever you want,” he said.

Without further ado, he sprang forwards, bringing one sword up and the other down in a wide sweep, keeping his feet light so he could keep pressing on. Jet was on the defensive, stepping back and bring his swords up to block. He twisted his swords, bringing them in towards him and trying to catch his hooks onto Zuko’s swords, to dislodge them from his grip. Zuko pushed him back, stepping back himself, only to throw himself in again a moment later.

Zuko had moved at half-speed, as, it seemed, had Jet. Both of them moved faster and faster as the fight went on and they managed to gauge how well the other could keep up. Soon, neither of them were holding back, meeting each other blow for blow, teeth gritted at they tested metal against metal, grinning with satisfaction at finding a match they could throw their all against and trust to meet them in the middle.

Somewhere throughout the fight, Zuko had abandoned the ‘Honourable Rules of Combat’ for a full-out brawl, using the sun’s reflections on his blade to dazzle Jet, and kicking up sand when he was almost pinned. For a full minute, the two had both lost their swords and tussled with each other on the ground. Zuko had been tempted to bite him, but they separated and stood too quickly for him to try it.

It wasn’t long, however, before Zuko began to tire. The shakes returned to his arms, grip on his swords slipping as he sweated; his legs burned. No matter how he tried to control his breaths, they came in painful gasps. In the back of his mind, he began to panic – he was wasting precious energy on this fight, but couldn’t stop without the other’s permission, not without risking his dinner, which he only needed more and more as the fight dragged on (Was that his plan? Make him desperate for his meal so he could drag something else from him he didn’t want to give?).

(For a half-second he considered letting the other win, if only to end the fight, but his pride banished the thought. Giving anything less than his full effort was unthinkable.)

It wasn’t long before a lull came into the fight, and Zuko took the opportunity to refill his lungs, absently noticing the other doing the same. The adrenalin faded as their sweat cooled, becoming chilly in the swift approaching evening. The shakes didn’t abate, and he dreaded the return to the fight, now that he could feel his muscles beginning to burn in a different way. He definitely should have stretched.

He could feel the other’s eyes on him, assessing his weakness. (Was he good enough? Did he want to be?)

Jet moved towards him, and he pulled his swords back up into an exhausted guard, forcing his spine to straighten and his breaths to even out into something he could actually use. His vision was going hazy again, his left eye near useless.

But the other only sheathed his swords, a gentle hand on Zuko’s wrist suggesting he do the same.

“I think we’ve both had enough,” Jet said, still panting slightly, not commenting on how Zuko trembled, barely standing. When Zuko met his eyes, only a foot away from him (too close after so long alone), he saw a fragment of worry there - or maybe apology. He wasn’t sure.

He shook the hand off, putting away his swords as he stepped back, using the motion to break eye contact.

“Dinner,” Jet said, staying out of his space, but gesturing for him to go with him.

Exhausted, but pretty sure he’d met the boy’s criteria, he followed after him, letting himself take a little pride in his skill.

***

_This guy is fantastic._

Jet couldn’t believe he’d found such a competent swordsman just in the middle of nowhere. The boy was driven, tough, and refused point-blank to give anything less than his all - even when he really should.

That last part was going to be a problem. Jet was used to his people trusting him and telling him what they needed, or having someone else standing next to them ready to tell him. Fleeing the Fire Nation tended to bring out one’s self-preservation instincts, and it had been a while since he’d taken on a new recruit (aside from during that… disaster), let alone one with a history he didn't know. He’d never worked with an enigma before, and knew instinctively that this boy wasn’t going to tell him anything about himself that he didn’t absolutely have to.

But that skill, that determination and – judging by his ‘warrior etiquette’ towards the start of the fight – that formal training he’d had was far too good to let go.

Not to mention that the owner of the eatery from earlier was almost certainly right: this kid was going to die out here without someone there to help him. And he wouldn’t take any help unless it was forced upon him when he was too desperate to resist.

He seemed like he was scared of everyone. Jet would bet that had something to do with that scar on his face - but he had a feeling it had more to do with however he came to be travelling alone.

Not that he’d be alone anymore, not if Jet could help it.

***

Dinner that night was a mostly quiet affair. Like at lunch, the boy didn’t speak, eating as slowly as he dared to help his body adjust to the fact that there was _food_ in there for once. Jet wondered how long the boy had been hungry for, before.

He didn’t ask, and was careful not to look at the boy eating, or his food, or to make any sort of comment about his eating habits. Better to act as though the boy wasn’t getting the one thing he was most desperate for, which he and his friends could take away at any given moment.

They felt drained as they stepped out into the early evening. The boy seemed to droop the second the sun dipped over the horizon, even as he struggled not to show any weakness. Jet could feel the burn in his muscles that reminded him that it had been a while since he’d done anything more strenuous than walking.

He let out a yawn, and winced as he stretched his locked muscles. He turned to the boy, “We’re about ready to make camp for the night, do you want to join us? We’ll understand if you don’t,” he added before the boy had the chance to panic over turning them down, which he did immediately, though halfway politely.

Jet had known full well that the boy wouldn’t allow himself to be that vulnerable near them, but had known that he had to make the offer so that he’d know that when he wanted to come with them that he could ask and would know that it would be accepted.

“Would you join us for breakfast, though? We can meet you back here two hours after sunrise,” this part he did need to secure just now – he didn’t know where the boy would be camped (and couldn’t ask because then the boy would never _sleep_ ), and so had no way of finding him, or of knowing that he wouldn’t flee in the night. He needed his word, at the very least, that he would find them again.

The boy looked unsure, which Jet had expected. He realised at the last second that he’d forgotten an important detail, one that the boy, of course, wouldn’t simply expect: “We’ll pay. Don’t worry about it.”

And the guarded look came back again. “And in exchange?” That constant question, untrusting, still waiting for the other shoe to drop. And Jet had to ask for something, or the boy would just think he was hiding his intentions.

Jet hated trying to think of things he wanted from the boy when all he wanted was for him to be safe. But, so far, being honest with him had worked best. “You could think about my offer. Joining us? Giving it a shot, at least. We’re headed to Ba Sing Se, you could come with us.”

The boy shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know if Ba Sing Se is the best place for me.”

“Then we’ll help you get to wherever you should be.”

Jet knew he’d misstepped when he saw the momentary heartbroken expression on his face, before he covered it with a scowl. “That… That’s not an option.”

Jet was tempted to say something about having lost his own home to the Fire Nation, that he understood what must have happened to him; that finding where you belong isn’t necessarily about going back to where you came from, but which could be about finding somewhere new to call your own. He would have said exactly that, but the boy spoke again before he could start.

“I’m not sure that you want me anyway – I could be anyone. I could be dangerous.”

“I know that you’re dangerous, that’s part of why I want you,” Jet tried to joke, but the boy showed no reaction. “I’m only asking you to think about it. You don’t have to tell me your answer if you don’t want to.” When the boy looked unconvinced he reduced his ask, reluctantly. “What about just to the next town? We try it out, you don’t have to commit to anything. All I’m asking for right now is for you to still be here tomorrow. We can sort the rest out later.”

The boy stood straight, examining Jet for a long moment. He turned his eyes – or was it just eye for him? Would he need them to cover that side? – behind Jet to his friends, looking for some sort of… something. Honesty. Safety. The potential for what Jet was offering.

His eye(s?) returned to Jet’s. He gave a short bow, his hand making an odd, fumbled gesture that he gave up on halfway through. (A history in nobility? It would explain the formal sword training.)

“I will be here tomorrow two hours after sunrise. I will think about your offer. On my honour.”

He showed them his back without caution for what must have been the first time, and left without another word, his ostrich-horse trailing behind him.

It was a start. A pretty good one, all things considered – he couldn’t have asked for his first crack of the kid to have gone much better, not with him being the way that he was.

He had his foot in the door. He could go from here.


	2. Lonliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet talks with the other fighters.  
> Zuko makes a decision he doesn't want to make.

Through sleep blurred eyes, Jet watched the sun climbing above the horizon. It was an hour after sunrise; they had another until they were meeting the boy again. An hour to talk without him hearing.

In minutes they’d packed up their camp, the act made easy by its familiarity, each of them taking things in turns, moving around each other to pick up one thing or another, the flow of unified movement comfortable. When the last bedroll was secured on their packs, they migrated to the centre of what was their camp and sat in a circle next to the ashy fire pit.

Jet spoke first. “I know I took the lead yesterday,” he said, “And I want to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

Smellerbee rolled her eyes, idly sharpening one of her knives. “You want to adopt the new kid.”

Longshot gave a half-smile, waving the fingers of one hand just above the ground while the other tapped out a simple rhythm. _“We saw this coming before you did. It is fine.”_

Jet relaxed slightly. “I’m sorry I didn’t manage to check with you guys before I started, all the same.”

Smellerbee lowered her knife, placing her focus solely on Jet. “You need a new kid, Jet. If it wasn’t him it would just be someone else.”

“But this isn’t just about me,” he insisted.

 _“No,”_ Longshot jabbed his fourth finger harshly against the ground, frowning. _“It’s about him, as well. He needs us as much as you need him.”_

Jet nodded. “And you two? Are you even getting anything out of this?”

“He can hold his own well enough. And he seems like good company, if we can get him out of his shell. He’ll understand us - that’s rare enough to be worth investing in.” Smellerbee looked at the knife in her hand, one out of a dozen hidden across her body, ready for use at any given moment. “But I don’t know if he’s a fighter, Jet, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Didn’t you see-”

“I did. But being able and willing to fight is not the same as being built for it… I think he wants out.”

Longshot drew two fingers through the dirt, his expression twisted. _“A lot of people are tired of fighting._ ” He looked up and met Jet’s gaze, clicking his tongue. _“We shouldn’t keep him longer than he needs if we’re just going to get into trouble again.”_

Jet felt the familiar anger and regret twisting within him. “I already promised you guys I was done with that!”

“And so far you’ve done a great job,” Smellerbee soothed him, hands up. “We’re just reminding you of that promise. We’ll stick with you no matter what, but it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to join us in battle, especially since he probably _would,_ once we get through to him properly, regardless of his own feelings.”

_“He seems like the type to give loyalty quickly if thinks he can trust someone. We can’t abuse that.”_

There was no point in speculation at this stage. Jet didn’t want to speculate on this, not when…

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. They were no use right now. The boy was coming with them whether he wanted to or not. He _needed_ them. “Let’s just keep going with things as they are. We don’t know anything about him for sure yet, and I’m not planning to get us in trouble anyway. We don’t need to talk about this just now.”

The others knew he was just shutting all this down, but they didn’t object. They’d said their piece, and knew that he’d listened. They trusted him to deal with what came next, going forwards.

He squinted at the sun. There was still some time left before they were to meet with the boy, but Jet didn’t feel like staying here much longer. “Let’s head back and grab a bite to eat,” he said. “Maybe he’ll be early.”

***

Zuko was waiting outside of the eatery, idly petting Song, who was enjoying a coin’s worth of feed. He wasn’t as worried about his now-empty pockets as he should have been, which was worrying in and of itself. He knew better than to trust these people – just because he hadn’t figured out their angle yet didn’t mean that there _wasn’t_ one – but found himself inclined to all the same.

(They’d been friendly and they’d given him what he needed and listened when he told them to back off and he knew they were just trying to get him to trust them so why was it _working?_ )

It was terrifying how much he cared after only half a day and a few meals. He should leave before they managed to dig their claws in deeper. Why did he swear on his honour that he’d be here? He had little enough of it as it was and they didn’t even ask for it, and now he was stuck here and-

They were here.

Jet’s face lit up at the sight of him. _(Did he doubt he would keep his word? He_ swore _on it, does he think him honourless?)_ The others behind him seemed similarly pleased, he thought, though the bowman was especially difficult to read.

“Good to see you,” Jet called as he approached.

Zuko narrowed his eyes at the hidden insult. “I said I’d be here.”

Jet shrugged, some expression flitting across his face too quickly for Zuko to read it. “You did. Do you want to eat inside or outside?” He brushed off Zuko’s offence, similarly ignoring his frosty greeting.

“You’re paying.” A reminder of both his promise and his status.

“Yeah, but I’m not too bothered.” Jet watched him and waited for a reply. When none was forthcoming, he offered, “Do you want to eat outside so you can keep an eye on your ostrich-horse?”

“Her name is Song.”

“Is that a yes?”

Zuko shrugged again. The ruder he was the less likely they’d get attached. The more likely they would get tired of this waiting game and move in for whatever they really wanted, and he could be done with these mind-games.

Jet took everyone’s orders and went inside with Longshot. Smellerbee waited outside with Zuko.

She looked like she wanted to ask something, but never said anything, just _looked_ at him expectantly like he was supposed to _do_ something, but _how could he_ when she didn’t _ask_ him to?

“What?”

She blinked. “It doesn’t matter.”

_“What?”_

She sighed. “I want to have some sort of conversation with you since we haven’t actually spoken, but…” she looked over at him. “I don’t know how to start one without asking you questions, and I get the feeling you’re not gonna like that.”

“No,” he agreed. “I wouldn’t.” He looked away. There was a simple enough resolution to this.

 _Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it-_ “How long have you three been together?”

She grinned at him, and he couldn’t quite find it in himself to be annoyed at himself.

***

“…And we each had our own little huts in the trees, and no one knew where we were, so it always felt really safe, and we’d tell stories around the campfire every night.” A plate in each hand, Jet stepped out of the building to Smellerbee’s voice. It was rare to hear her sound so young and happy; and he wouldn’t have expected to hear it when talking about their lost home, of all things. Maybe it hadn’t been all that bad, until the end. “Some of the younger kids,” she said, “They’d been there all their lives, or near enough.”

“Certainly felt that way sometimes,” Jet agreed, silently regretting speaking when the boy flinched. (Maybe he shouldn’t have come at him from the left, his vision had to be affected by that scar, assuming he wasn’t completely blind there - though it hadn't seemed that way when they'd fought the day before.) Still, he figured the best way to resolve it was to keep going as if nothing was wrong; he suspected that little would bother the boy as much as having his issues pointed out. He couldn’t afford to risk it just yet.

“Looking after toddlers in tree houses was always a nightmare,” he said, managing to put a little laugh in his voice.

Smellerbee snorted, sticking her tongue out at him as she took her plate. “You love The Duke.”

“Wouldn’t have put all that effort in if I didn’t.” He saw the boy relaxing again in the corner of his eye, but was careful not to look directly at him.

 _“Yeah, you would have,”_ Longshot tapped on the plate he was passing to the new boy.

Settled on the steps with his plate on his knees, Jet held his hands up in admittance. “Okay, yeah, probably. But still.”

“The Duke?” the new boy asked, already tucking in.

“He’s one of my kids,” Jet said, pleased that he’d joined the conversation without invitation. Then he realised just what he'd asked. “He _was_ one of my kids… He’s fine, it’s just complicated.” He blinked away amber visions. _(Breathed in.)_ Scanned the horizon; not a dot of red in sight. _(Breathed out.)_ Sniffed subtly; no smoke, no spice, nothing burnt - _(Breathed in)_ – no fire or Firebending. _(Breathed out. It felt natural that time.)_

The new boy was watching him closely. “Is that just something you do, then?”

Jet shrugged, trying to act as though the question wasn’t _incredibly_ important. “I’ve been where they are. It helps me to help them.” Being honest and framing himself as selfish seemed to be the best ways to go with the kid, as difficult as it was - the boy always needed to see that he had something Jet wanted, that he had some sort of power in the situation.

He nodded and took another bite of his food. Just as Jet was about to start up another conversation – with Bee and Long, as he didn’t know what questions were safe and which weren’t with him – the boy asked, “Have you been anywhere interesting in your travels, then?”

Jet looked at him in surprise, just in time to catch the open expression of curiosity, undercut with the sort of awkwardness that doesn’t go away, before the boy caught the look and flushed, hands tight on his plate as he looked away. “Or whatever, it’s not. Um.”

The tension in the shoulders, protective stance – protecting the _plate,_ as well, which was problematic in a completely different sense – suggested that this was more than embarrassment. Did he really think he’d hurt him just for talking out of turn?

He needed to say something but what was he supposed to say? What did he need to hear right now? Would he listen? Jet could do a lot of damage if he misread the situation or said the wrong thing here.

Seconds crawled by as he tried to think of what to say. Slight shakes, not hunger-driven this time, appeared in the boy’s shoulders as he started eating faster. Jet couldn't understand how this had even happened - what could make him act this way. He didn't know how he could fix it - not even in the short term, never mind erasing the behaviour, the _fear_ , altogether.

“Every town we’ve visited has been sorta the same,” Smellerbee said, her tone calm, as though the boy wasn't seconds away from a breakdown, “You’ve seen plains once, you’ve seen them a hundred times. But we met these really annoying nomads a few weeks ago; they kept singing the same songs over and over, but with different words?”

The boy relaxed as soon as he realised she’d started answering his question – as soon as he’d realised that he hadn’t done something they didn’t want him to.

 _Look for the positives_ , Jet told himself, to keep himself from screaming, _at least you know how to calm him now._

Jet joined in when Smellerbee came to a lull, pushing the tension from his thoughts and voice, thinking instead of the day that had become funny now that they were past it. “I swear, it was either one song with twenty different verses," he said, "Or the guy only knew one tune but wanted us to think he knew more? We tried pointing it out to him and he just. Didn’t react.”

“At all,” Smellerbee nodded. “He would look at us for half a second and then go back to singing the _same song_ all over again.”

“…would these people be the nomads who would only sing about love but in the vaguest possible terms? No one ever taught their ringleader how to wear a robe?”

Jet chuckled. “You’ve met them too, then?”

The boy stared at him for a half-beat too long, his lone eyebrow ticking up slightly. He didn’t bother voicing the sarcastic remark. “If you spend enough time travelling…” he said instead. “Plus, I had a habit of seeking out bards. I wasted so much time waiting for them to do _something_ substantial.”

“We happened to be going in the same direction as them for a _whole day_ ,” Smellerbee said.

The boy winced.

“Exactly.”

The easy conversation continued as their bowls emptied and the sun inched across the sky. The boy mostly stayed out of it, listening to them reminisce, but was no longer afraid to join in.

***

They were careful to keep the conversation on lighter topics – funny stories of travel, friendly debates about treehouses vs stone houses, the disasters that come with raising young kids when you, yourself, are a kid. They didn’t mention why they were travelling, why they needed tree houses, why those kids were with them and not their parents.

Zuko could guess though. The Fire Nation. As much as he ~~wanted to~~ _was considering_ joining them (just until the next town), he knew in his heart of hearts it would never work. He couldn’t be safe with them. Not if they knew the truth.

 _But_ … tagging along for a week or two couldn’t hurt. As much as he hated to admit it, he was struggling to survive, and these people were offering him help. They seemed... safe. He knew what they wanted from him, or at least he was pretty sure he did, and he could supply that easily enough. They were coming off pretty poorly in the bargain, but if they really were the types to help people, just because…

He was a fool to believe it for a second, but if the worst came to the worst, he could throw a few fireballs and leap onto Song.

(He wanted to be able to trust them. The longing was bitter and fierce and painful, but he couldn’t quite squash it. They hadn’t hurt him, even when he was rude, even when they were _fighting_ , even when he kept pushing away their offer, wouldn’t give them whatever it was that they wanted. They hadn’t hurt him. Not a little slap. Not a punch on the arm that they could explain away as camaraderie. They’d barely touched him, never without him knowing.

 ~~Maybe it would be okay.~~ )

_It wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t work. You’re Fire Nation. You’re the Prince. They’d hate you if they knew. They’d kill you._

_But they don’t know. And they won’t if you’re careful._

The guilt burned in his throat like bile, at his deception of these people who saw his face and thought they knew him, thought they were kin of a kind when they were anything but, but he swallowed it down.

If an army of archers, The Ocean Spirit, and The _Firelord_ himself couldn’t kill him (not that the last one was _really_ trying to, he just had to place the choice in Agni’s hands; had to check that Agni still wanted him to live), there was no way he would let his own damned _emotions_ drag life from his body.

He’d accept their help until he was able to go on alone again. Not a minute longer.

Nothing mattered other than staying alive.

***

“…so somehow he had a splinter in every finger-”

“Li,” the boy said, eyes straight forward with his knees almost to his chest.

“What?”

He blinked, only just seeming to notice he’d said something. “I. Uh. You guys can call me Li, if you want.”

Jet didn’t respond, surprised to have been given a name so easily.

A hand came up to the back of his neck. He spoke in a mumble, refusing to look at any of them. “If we’re travelling together and stuff it’s probably best you have something to call me.”

“Li?” Jet tasted the name. It didn’t quite suit him, he thought. Soft. Ordinary. It was how he wanted people to see him, but not who he was. And it definitely wasn’t his real name.

“It – it’s not, my, uh-”

“Real name?”

He swallowed and nodded. “Is that okay? I just – I can’t-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jet gave him a careful smile. “I haven’t used my real name in eight years. None of us have for a while.”

He blinked. “I probably should have guessed that.”

Smellerbee leaned forward. “Something wrong with _our_ names, _Li_?”

He tensed, but managed to joke, “There’s no right answer to that, is there?”

She grinned with too many teeth, and, moving slowly enough that he’d easily see it coming, gave him a nudge with her elbow (not so gentle that he’d realise she was using kid gloves and get offended _because of course he would_ , but far enough from harsh not to upset him, if he reacted badly. Hopefully). He didn’t flinch or shy away. _A win._

“So,” Jet said, “You’re gonna stick with us, then?”

His smile froze. “I don’t know if I’ll stick around as long as you want me to,” he hedged, “But travelling with allies sounds easier than going it alone.”

Jet held back a sigh. This was enough. He would _make it_ be enough. He would have a few weeks to charm the boy and, failing that, would feed him and teach him everything there is to know about foraging and slip some coin into his bag, and he’d be okay even if he did choose to leave.

“I hope I’ll be able to change your mind,” Jet admitted, because _(Li Rule Number One:)_ Li Likes Honesty, and if he can use that loophole to say nice things to him and persuade him to stick around then he will, “But at the end of the day, it’ll be your decision, whatever happens.”

_(Li Rule Number Two: Don’t tell him what to do.)_

“But…” Li hesitated over his words, but continued. “I’ll be honest with you, Jet,” he said. “You don’t want me in your group.”

“I think I do,” Jet said, brushing off his words easily (why _wouldn’t_ he want him?) but taking in the sincerity contained within them (just _another_ thing to fix here), placing a cautious hand on Li’s arm. He didn’t flinch then, either. “And whether or not I want you here is my decision to make.”

“It is,” Li agreed quickly, he clearly didn’t want to be saying this either. “I just wanted to have said that, so that when you eventually realise that you don’t want me – and you will, _don’t make that face-”_ he went so far to point at Jet as he spoke. “-I know what you want and what you think you see and trust me, I’m not that.”

_(What’s that supposed to mean? Does he think I only want a warrior from him, still?)_

Li continued, “I want to be able to say, ‘I told you so’ while I get the fuck out of there.”

_(More things to fix, don’t stress about it, you’ll have a few weeks at least to sort this. It’ll be okay, just don’t let yourself stress over this and everything will be okay.)_

Li sighed, seemingly still not done. “I don’t like that I’ve been lying to you, Jet, and that I will continue to lie because I _have to_ , and I want to have been honest at one point in all of this.” Despite the conviction in his voice, he refused to meet Jet’s eye.

“So this is me being honest: You don’t want me, Jet, and if you ever find out why, you’ll regret not leaving me to die the day we met.”

Jet clenched a fist at his side, letting the anger at whoever made him think about himself that way wash into and out of him; it was no use to him right now, and he couldn’t let Li see it and misunderstand. He had to let go for now; wait until he had Li’s trust and knew at least a bit more about him before he could try to explain that whoever had told him that was _wrong_. However, at least at that point in time, there was nothing he could do to change his mind.

(He wondered what the boy may or may not have been lying about when he'd barely spoken so dar, but whatever it was, he knew it couldn't be as bad as the boy seemed to think it was.)

“Would you be happy to leave today?” he said instead, not knowing how to acknowledge anything Li had just said. Denying something Li was so sure about wouldn’t help. _(Breathe in; breathe out.)_

He shrugged, unhappy to be asked, pushed to present an opinion that may contradict with what Jet wanted, even as he clearly wanted to have a choice _(that’s gonna be tricky to work around)_. “I’m ready whenever. Song’s got all my stuff.”

He pointed his thumb to the half-empty saddlebag. Song leaned down to nuzzle at his head, rubbing her chin on his fuzzy hair, careful not to scrape him with the point of her beak. He subtly twisted his head so that she couldn’t touch his scar. (Was the aversion trauma-related? Or did the scar hurt to touch? Song was being too gentle for it to be an aversion to her preening specifically.)

Jet glanced at the others, who each hefted their bags in reply, getting to their feet. Li did the same, moving to untie Song.

Something comfortable settled in his chest. They were leaving together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos comment subscribe please  
> (i sound like a youtuber im sorry)  
> next chapter (probably gonna be short, ngl) should hopefully be up next saturday/sunday (unless i make it longer, but then you'll get more so...), it'll start to lean into what this was supposed to be which I'll admit i lost track of because fluff and bonding  
> Speaking of fluff! I ran head first into theatrenerd!Zuko and now all of the fluff is made of that, theres a couple OC's there just to make it work and im sorry but i promise im not gonna use them too much and its just one roasting zuko while the other makes cute faces so. yeah. they'll show up in a couple one-shots about bonding an stuff, because it works and i do kinda want Zuko to be happy and have nice things so keep an eye out for them  
> Plus they're halfway prewritten so if any chapters of this take longer than... 3 weeks? a month? idk but if its taking too long and doesn't look like it'll be resolved soon I'll throw out one of them just to keep y'all going (so maybe subcribe to the main series so you can tell if that ends up being the case? or not it's whatever)  
> Also im back at uni full time and all that so that'll influence how quickly i can get this stuff out so sorry not sorry i need an education man but ill go as quick as i can with this promise
> 
> Also! 'Guilt' is the angstiest fucking name and i hate what should i call this instead please tell me it's awful


	3. Mistrust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things were actually going well for about thirty seconds. Then they weren't.

While everyone else got themselves ready to leave, Jet went inside to pay.

Behind the counter, the owner gave him an approving look. Jet felt a flash of annoyance – the man must have been listening – but gave him a nod in return. The man had wanted Li to live as well, and he’d been willing to put the effort into making it happen, just as they had. That kindness was special in its scarcity, as much as he didn’t wasn’t anyone else near _his_ kids.

“A word of warning,” the man offered, “In case you hadn’t heard. There’s been sightings of a group of Fire Nation warriors a few towns away not too long ago." _Well, fuck._ "The Rhino Somethings? I’m not sure. Chances are they’ll be at the next town over by now. You should probably skip it and head for the next one after that, if you can.”

“Firebenders?”

“Not sure.” He shrugged. “All I know for sure is that they’re looking for someone specific – by the sounds of things, someone who seriously pissed off the Fire Nation. Tracked them halfway across the Earth Kingdom.”

There was something in his tone that suggested there was more. Was he waiting for him to ask or what?

“So you're taking the kid with you then?” he asked, changing the subject completely instead of elaborating on the important topic of Fire Mercenaries working nearby, acting as though they hadn’t already established that Jet was taking Li.

“Of course,” Jet let himself give a little grin. “He needs us; we need him. It’s mutually beneficial." He leaned over the counter, getting just a little too close to the man, scrutinising his expression. "Why are you asking?”

(Because he had a reason, there was no doubt about that. If this guy was going to try to cause him problems right after he’d got the kid’s agreement…)

“The rumour is that the guys are looking for a…” and his expression was a confusing mix of apologetic and uncompromising, “…they’re looking for a kid with a scar. One on his, ah.” He made a gesture to the left side of his face. Just to ensure that there was no doubt that it was _his_ kid.

_Damnit, Li._

“I see,” Jet said, lacking anything else to say.

He flinched at a sharp whistle from outside, recognising it as their greeting. He glanced back towards them to see Smellerbee leant in close to Li, him listening intently as she… taught him their whistle system.

_Nice one, Smellerbee._

The whistling would help him integrate. He wouldn’t fear any secret messages passing between them if he knew all the whistles’ meanings, and it would feel more permanent if he was let in on something as vital to them as this.

Plus, by the sounds of things, they were headed towards a fight and a half. The whistles could only come in handy.

He realised the man was still looking at him. “Thank you for telling me,” he said, then turned and left without saying goodbye. Not that the man deserved it, ruining his mood like that. He’d just got Li and now he had to… what?

Where did he go from here? He had to deal with these guys, obviously, but he couldn’t tell Li because the idiot would definitely run off the second he thought he was putting them in danger. Plus, if Smellerbee was even halfway right about Li, he couldn’t go shoving him towards fights. Even if he was, by some miracle, willing to work with them on this, he was on no shape to fight - a few meals were nothing against prolonged starvation.

So he had to deal with these guys without letting Li know about it – not that there were guys after him (though he likely suspected as much), not that they were going to deal with it, not that they were going off to a fight without him.

Because that worked so well with Li’s absolute need for honesty. How were they even supposed to get away to deal with the fight without him knowing about it?

There was no way to sort this that Li would like.

***

Jet had been in there too long. Something was wrong.

Zuko couldn’t believe he’d let himself be distracted – _stupid!_ Who cared about learning a handful of whistles (a secret code they could use against him; one they were trusting him with at the first possible opportunity) when he needed to be on guard at every second.

…with his bad ear and bad eye facing towards the leader. He’d let his guard down sometime amid their conversation, over an hour ago now, some instinct having decided (without checking in with his brain) that they were safe.

_(It was so nice to just sit and talk and listen with interesting people who liked him. It shouldn’t be such a rare luxury.)_

He couldn’t let himself think that - couldn't let himself trust them. Even if they were trustworthy (which was still up for debate), they weren’t safe to be around. Not when he was lying to them like this – not that he could stop, of course.

It was the same story he’d known through all his time in exile, unable to have any true friends. On the odd occasion he could get away from his duties to meet up with the travellers he met, port to port, he’d lied about his name and heritage and everything else they wanted to know about him.

(It had been worth it though, to have a few nights spent with people who thought him the same as them, an equal - to spend time with other kids the same age as him.

To spend the nights dancing and singing and talking, responsibilities dropping from his shoulders as he was finally able to act his age.)

For the most part throughout his Earth Kingdom adventures, he hadn’t been in too much danger. His crew could have helped him if he needed it (not that he’d ever ask them for it), his uncle would be right there if he thought he was in danger, and he was hanging out with _bards_ , travelling performers and singers - not with swordsmen who’d clearly seen the war already.

If Jet and his crew thought him a threat, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. It’s not just that they would, though - they’d know _how_ to do it. With three of them on one, with his exhausted state, with his instincts rewired to hide his firebending, the only defence he had was his vigilance.

And he didn’t even have that.

He glanced over at Jet, still talking to the man inside. _Something_ was going on, and he didn’t know what, because he _trusted_ them like a fool.

(Every time he thought he couldn’t sink lower, he found a new level to disgust himself on. Sure, he couldn’t be an honest person in his situation, but he’d always been an okay soldier. Not any longer.)

Jet came outside with a false smile. He was stressed, but didn’t want them to know. Correction: He didn’t want ‘Li’ to know - he wouldn’t pretend like this for the others. He’d have been honest with _them_.

(He hadn’t known them long enough for the ache in his chest to be justified.)

_~~(He was so sick of being alone.)~~ _

“Something’s come up,” Jet said, like an asshole. He gave a flimsy excuse to take Longshot and Smellerbee off to the side and talk to them without letting Zuko hear. He let them. He could hardly stop them from being untrustworthy. That was their decision.

They were probably planning how to sell him to the authorities. The only question was, which ones?

At least the Earth Kingdom would grant him a quick death, once they realised he wasn’t any use to them. (It wasn’t as though his father would give them anything for him. It would be his own fault for getting captured.)

 _Was_ that what was happening though?

Why would they waste their coin on a dead man? He’d barely been able to hold his swords towards the end of the fight yesterday, that would have been the perfect time to spring a trap. But they hadn’t. They’d fed him twice since then. They’d let him sleep away from them, and hadn’t approached his camp at all through the night. (He knew, he’d been watching.)

Perhaps they were trying to grab his trust, make him walk himself to his death, avoid a fight with a dangerous and desperate opponent.

But they must have already known he was slow to trust. A few meals would keep him with them, but it wouldn’t stop him running at the first hint of trouble _. (Why hadn’t he left yet, then?)_ He hadn’t stayed alive this long by trusting people.

(Except for the peasant bards he’d followed across the Earth Kingdom for years, when his quest seemed doomed and all hope was lost.

But this wasn’t the same, and he couldn’t pretend it was.)

Suffice to say, however, was that they knew he wasn’t about to trust them just because they’d _fed_ him and acted _nice_ for a few hours.

So they weren’t about to betray him.

…and his only evidence of that was that they would be doing a terrible job at it if they were. Meaning it would be even more embarrassing if they captured him.

He gritted his teeth. Song petted his head with her beak, nuzzling him gently. She was such a good girl. Hopefully Jet and the others would take good care of her after they betrayed him.

Could he ask them to? Would he be in more danger if they knew he knew? Worse – would _Song_ be in danger if he let on that he cared about her? Most didn’t care too much for their ostrich-horses, (because most didn’t rely entirely on them for company).

Either way, it was decision time. Jet was coming back.

(And he hadn’t been eavesdropping, why? By Agni, when they killed him, it would be his own fault.)

Jet sat next to him, at an arm’s length. “Listen, Li,” he said,” A friend of ours got himself into a spot of trouble; we need to head to the next town over to scope out the situation, help sort it for him if we can.”

Zuko’s eyes narrowed. Jet didn’t seem to be lying, but… “What’s actually happening?”

Jet hesitated, a slight grimace crawling across his face. It was better than that fake grin from earlier. “That _is_ what’s happening, but-”

“But what?”

“Okay, so I left out a few details,” Zuko opened his mouth to ask again when he looked like he wasn’t going to explain further, but Jet started again before he could, “We’ll explain properly when we get back, okay? I’d rather wait until everything was sorted.”

Zuko blinked. “Get back?” They were leaving him behind? Taking their eyes off their bounty? Taking their eyes off of such a ~~skittish~~ ah, _travelled,_ bounty?

_(Another sign that they were either trustworthy or incompetent.)_

“It’s _our_ friend we’re helping out.” There was a slight hesitance to his words – he was missing something out… but it didn’t seem to be malicious. “It wouldn’t be fair on you to ask you to help us.”

“Wasn’t that the whole point in taking me on in the first place?” They wanted _“an extra hand”_ didn’t they? Why reject him like this?

“Not this soon. I’d hate for you to think that’s all we want from you.”

Of course, there was Jet’s proclivity for taking in helpless, abandoned little kids. That was _so_ much better _(true as it was)._

“Plus,” Jet added, “You’re not quite at full strength yet. I’d hate to push you towards a fight before you’d, ah, recovered.”

Translation: _you’re so weak and ill you’d probably hurt yourself._

Well, he couldn’t argue with that. Much as he'd have liked to.

He watched Jet for a second, but he didn’t look close to relenting. He’d have little luck getting him to explain further. Not to mention that Jet’s expression gave nothing away – he was a people-person, skilled with expressions and lies in a way Zuko was all-too-familiar with, but could never replicate.

(Well, not without a script and some practise and a willingly ignorant audience to help him. But none of that would help him here.)

“How long will you be?” he asked instead.

Jet looked surprised by his acceptance, and more than a little bit pleased. “Three days at the most.”

“Probably two then?”

Jet shrugged. “It depends on how long our business takes us.”

Zuko let out a little sigh of annoyance. He was reliant on what Jet told him here, when Jet was, by his own admission, hiding the truth from him. He had no information, and no way to get it.

_Unless…_

That would work.

“Here.” Jet handed him a small heavy pouch. The coins inside it clinked against each other. “To keep you going until we get back.”

(With half an army and mountains of coin, a hundred times the amount in the pouch he held - which would surely only be enough for a few days meals, if he was careful with it.)

This pouch, as much as Zuko needed it, was a mark against them; the fact that they were so liberal with their coin suggested that they were expecting more to come in soon.

Still, even as his pride urged him to reject the money, logic and hunger won. He stood, and tucked it safely in Song’s saddlebag.

Jet took a gentle hold of his wrist. “Promise you’ll still be here when we get back?”

Carefully, Zuko took his wrist back, turning to face him fully. “Be back in three days,” he said, not quite promising, but not _not_ promising either. “I don’t like staying in one place for too long.”

Jet nodded, hearing what he didn’t want to say. “Three days.”

The trio was already prepped to go. He sat back down on the steps, Song settled beside him, gently nudging him with her long neck, and they watched them leave.

He took in a deep breath, then let it out, as though that could shift the unexpected ache in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos comment subscribe please pay attention to me  
> might be a little while til i get the next one out - this whole bit of the series is getting a bit tricky for me, cus i have so much fun stuff to do as well but i have to wait, not to mention the non-existent twin series that i have thoroughly neglected as of late. However, i have a few bits and bobs for this series kicking about that I'll hand out if i end up taking too long  
> also i have tumblr now! idk what im doing with it yet (so there's like... no content there I'll be honest) but if you want to ask me questions, make suggestions or just say hi you can do that now (please do i really wanna figure out this website)  
> https://foiblepnoteworthy.tumblr.com/


	4. Loss

Longshot glanced back at the shrinking town over his shoulder.

 _“He’s still watching us,”_ he told them in a frown.

Jet gave an answering frown, but said nothing.

They walked on.

“…Did you think I made the right choice?” Jet broke the silence. Neither of them answered him.

He hated feeling like this. This uncertainty. He was meant to be the leader, he had to be right first time every time because anything else didn't bear thinking about - anything other than success meant his kids were hurt. He had to do everything he could, and he had to be sure because uncertainty meant hesitation which meant inaction which could only put them at risk. He had to look after his kids. 

But Li… He didn’t know him yet. Didn't know his story, didn't know how to make him happy, didn't know his triggers (though his face allowed him a few guesses). He didn't know how to avoid hurting him, and could only guess at how to look after him.

(Was he even capable of looking after anyone, anymore?)

“Guys?” Showing weakness was even worse… or it would be if he had more followers than his two friends, who were becoming more like his peers and less like his responsibilities every time he let himself ask them for help instead of forcing himself to be this pillar that everyone leaned on.

He didn’t have to be that anymore. Couldn’t be (there was no one left). He missed it in a way, the pressure - the feeling that people depended on him pushing him out of bed every morning, the sense of knowing his purpose in life - but in another way… this was so much nicer, being able to just _be_ for a change, not having to pretend he had all the answers, even when he really didn’t and was putting everyone in danger and-

Well, that hadn’t gone well in the past.

But he was trying now, to ask when he wasn’t sure. It would be easier of the others would actually _answer him._

Smellerbee sighed, but followed it up with words, “I don’t know, Jet. Li’s a tricky guy. You did what you thought was best in a difficult situation.”

That wasn’t an answer at all. But it was the best he was going to get. “Do you think he’ll still be there when we get back?” _Assuming we do._ But there was no point in agonising over what-ifs like that.

Longshot tapped on the brim of his hat. _“He didn’t say he would be. But he seemed like he wanted to.”_

So they had to trust in Li’s nerve – hope he’d keep trusting them long enough.

Jet looked over his shoulder at the shrinking figure. It hadn’t moved an inch in the time they’d been walking.

An ostrich-horse stood next to the figure. Fast, plenty of stamina. Recently fed.

Li had a pouch of coin to sustain him – one with just enough to let him think he didn’t need them. Not enough to keep him alive, not in the long term.

The only way they could keep helping him was if he let them, and he would only let them if he thought he could trust them.

_(A figure hunched protectively over a bowl; a defensive tension that didn't belong in a friendly spar; sharp eyes watching them throughout every interaction. Interactions that swayed between submission and defiance as he tested his boundaries and retreated into his shell over and over.)_

Somewhere in his chest, Jet ached.

***

Zuko waited until they were less than dots on the horizon. He noted their position in relation to the sun, then stepped inside the eatery.

“I need three days’ worth of rations.”

***

Zuko wished he could be offended by the ridiculous sum of money in the small coin pouch. This was not 'the just barely enough for a few days if he was careful' amount he had assumed he would find (which would already be more than he’d earned, especially as they hadn't taken him with them (to almost certain doom, but it would be his choice and at least he’d _know_ )). This much coin would last him a few weeks, at least. This could, if he was careful, keep him long enough to find somewhere he could earn more money, enough to keep him going permanently. 

He knew that he should keep the money and split before the others came back with whichever bounty hunters were after him. It didn't matter that he’d basically promised he’d stay here, that he wouldn’t leave them behind; that he didn’t want to be _alone_ anymore-

And that was the crux of it. He’d known hunger could make him weak, known insomnia could cloud his thoughts; he’d never have guessed that it’d be simple isolation that’d do him in.

He craved their simple conversation like he craved food.

He leapt onto Song, and let her take him back to his ~~frie~~ \- potential allies.

***

The Rough Rhinos were a tough-looking bunch of bastards.

Set upon fierce, barely controllable beasts, the trio each wielded a different weapon. One was a bombardier, carrying explosives in practically every nook of his armour; one held bolas, heavy black chains ending in heavier rounds weights, the other end of the chains secured around his waist. The last was on the ground, getting up close and personal with the villagers (who likely knew nothing anyway), waving his weapon - a long metal pole with a knife on the end instead of a spearhead – under their noses threateningly.

In the dimness of the approaching twilight, their weapons shone with the amber light of lanterns.

More than once, Jet found his hands inching towards his swords as he watched the villagers’ distress, but managed to stay his hand. He didn’t know enough yet; he needed to plan this properly. Maybe these rhino guys were just coasting by on intimidation, which would make them an easy enough fight, but they moved like professionals, and were sent after Li besides. Jet had only known the other boy for a day, but it was clear he wouldn’t let himself be taken down without giving his all, regardless of who he was fighting.

A group could only bluff their way so far, and a fight with Li would kill at least one of them if they weren’t very, _very_ , careful - they'd need some skill to back up their superior numbers and armour if they wanted to make it out of this without casualties.

…But Li wouldn’t be able to take all of them.

As he watched, Jet could almost swear that they looked familiar, but he would be willing to place the blame for _that_ on their Komodo Rhinos ( _backlit by fire, the beasts tore through his town, his home, his parents, his life)._

(It had been years, but he knew that man’s face better than his own, seared into his brain so he saw it whenever he closed his eyes.)

He and his Freedom Fighters (all two of them) were hidden on a rooftop (for want of a tree, a forest, to hide away in), watching the trio shake down the locals for information on a boy with a scar, shoving a piece of paper – _Li had_ posters? _What on_ Earth _did he do?_ – in their faces.

He couldn’t make out the page at their distance, especially in the half-dark, but Longshot assured him that, from what he could see, Li used to have appalling hair (he seemed set on this point, enough to make Jet equal parts concerned and morbidly curious about how terrible Li’s hair had been), and had cut it all off in an effort to make himself less recognisable.

(Difficult thing to do, with a scar like his – not just noticeable, but memorable. Harder to do when he moved half like a predator, half like a kid who ran away from home - scared and dangerous and guilty and vicious all at once. Li caught the eye in every way he didn’t want to.)

Down in the crowded (but not bustling) street below, one of the rhinos reared, only to be quelled by its rider twisting its horns, turning its head until it almost fell on its side. When released, it shook its huge head once to dispel the feeling, but submitted to its master.

The great grey brutes put Jet on edge in a way he didn’t want to be when he was due for a fight. They should make him angry, should remind him why he fights, why he’s like this, but he’s not angry. He’s… something else. Something worse. Something he doesn’t want to ever be again; shouldn’t be just because of these stupid lizards.

He’s not _afraid_. He’s not. He’ll prove it too, when he takes the three of them out - his friends right behind him - to protect someone else he’s rapidly coming to care for.

The sound of stomping feet told Jet his day was going to be worse than expected.

There weren’t three Fire Nation mercenaries. There were five.

Jet turned to survey the newcomers – there was an archer (with a flame on his bow and tattoos on his face, could he _be_ any more dramatic), which took away the one advantage he’d been hoping would turn their tides, and there was.

He knew that face.

He would never forget that face.

Across the street but fast approaching, _that face_ called out a greeting to the Rough Rhinos from the back of his own lizard. He blurred, turning red and black and red again. The town was on fire. 

Jet couldn’t breathe.

He tensed. Watched. Tried to listen over the roaring.

 _That face_ smiled.

Jet leapt.

***

Zuko had known they weren’t trustworthy. He had. They weren’t trying to help him; they wanted his trust because they wanted something from him. They’d never denied it either – but they’d told him they wanted him for themselves. Not to… hand over.

To the Fire Nation.

To Azula.

~~To Father.~~

They were camped out on a rooftop, spying on the Rough Rhinos, which distracted them from him, camping out on a rooftop and spying on the Freedom Fighters.

It was fascinating, watching them prepare for a fight – _a fight?_ No, that’s not right. But as he looked closer at their postures, their expressions, the way Jet gripped his swords and Smellerbee calmed him with a hand on his arm, there was no other conclusion he could come to.

They were there for a fight. But they must have been able to hear the men talking about the boy they were after – a boy with a scar like his.

…it wasn’t a coincidence that they were here. It couldn’t be. They knew these men were after him, and had come here to see them. They were anticipating a fight, but would they initiate it?

Maybe they were just being cautious about working with Fire Nation men - it was obvious the Fire Nation had hurt them before.

If they knew who he was, they wouldn’t hesitate to hand him over to his executioners, regardless of who was asking.

It couldn’t be much longer before they acted, and he found out what they wanted.

Scratch that. He wouldn’t get his answers for a while: there were more incoming. An archer (Yuyan, judging by the facial tattoos) and a weapon-less man who had to be a Firebender, both with their own Komodo Rhinos

The only safe way to take these guys out would be one at a time, preferably without their huge Kimono Rhinos there to protect them.

There was no way Jet and his friends wouldn’t strike them when they were all together. Not unless they were idiots.

(They could still approach them to make a deal. He couldn’t forget that that was just as valid an option.)

…as it turned out, however, they were idiots.

***

Jet had gone mad.

Smellerbee and Longshot could only watch as he threw himself at five professional Fire Nation mercenaries.

Longshot sent a flurry of arrows at them, trying to distract those closest to Jet, while Smellerbee launched herself off the rooftop after Jet, throwing a few carved wooden projectiles towards their archer, hoping to distract him long enough for her and Jet to get to some kind of cover.

The men didn’t hesitate in their counterattack. Jet was immediately on the defensive – because _of course_ he was, it was worse than two-to-one on the ground, and Smellerbee was too far from him to guard his flank – dodging around their various weapons, trying to deflect their attacks so that they struck the men instead of him, all while forcing himself through their ranks towards their Firebender and archer, the latter of which was distracted, trying to take out Longshot first, as Longshot did the same.

Smellerbee wanted to make her way to him, watch his back and have him watch hers, but he moved too quickly through the men; there was no safe way to follow him. She had enough on her plate just trying to keep herself alive.

Soon, all thoughts of tactics or the end of the fight fled from her head – she could only think of the weapons in her hands and the enemies around her.

In the back of her mind she was aware of the falling sand – the hourglass had been overturned, and they didn’t have long before Longshot ran out of ammo, and they would be stuck fighting with no one behind them.

Skilled and practised though she was, the wasn’t accustomed to fighting like this – fighting without the trees there to carry them above their enemies and take the blows they couldn’t block; without a dozen friends behind her to watch her back, rather than a single mad leader and a dwindling supply of arrows.

It wasn’t long before she was hit.

Heavy black bolas caught her on the side, and her armour could only protect her from so much. Her small stature, normally serving well for slipping through defences and dodging weapons, worked against her as she was thrown from the fight to hit a building. She heard the bricks crumble slightly behind her.

Seeing no men coming directly for her, she gave herself a moment to breathe and take stock of herself before she stood, bracing herself against a wall.

She ached everywhere. Her back had taken the brunt of it when she hit the wall, but the bolas themselves had got her in her side, which was partially unprotected for the sake of mobility. Not that it had helped her.

Her chest-plate was dented, probably beyond repair, digging into her ribs. Better that than her chest.

Nothing was bleeding, and nothing seemed broken. She’d find out for sure when the fight was properly over and the buzzing under her skin faded. But she didn’t have time for that; as soon as she could collect herself, she had to get back to Jet.

She didn’t even have time for that, however. The spearman had realised she was still alive and was coming for her.

She pulled more knives from her sleeves, her daggers small and comfortable and familiar in her palm, paltry compared to the longer reach of his weapon and arm.

Where he was sat on his Komodo Rhino, his feet were level with her head; the snarling creature’s horns were levelled at her chest, protected only by cloth under the ruined armour.

She craned her neck to see him, silhouetted against the fading sunset and amber lanterns, casting her in darkness.

The arrows had stopped coming. Jet didn’t seem to have noticed her following him into the fight. She pulled herself into a stance, still half-braced against the wall, and glowered at the man before her.

A shadow dropped onto the rhino behind him, forcing him from the beast’s back with a savage kick, following the move with a slice to his back. Blood coated the dirt where he landed. Smellerbee didn’t hesitate to finish him off. Her little knives were plenty good for that, at least.

Atop the rhino, the shadow moved to take out another of the men, the one with the bolas, spooking his rhino with a slash to its hide and forcing it and its rider to leave the fight. Smellerbee used the spearman’s rhino, now abandoned and unconcerned with the fight, to get the height she needed to see the changes in the battle.

Longshot was back in the fight, having taken the few moments he needed to collect the arrows the other archer had sent at him. The enemy archer was throwing arrows with pitiful results, powerful arms unable to maintain force and accuracy without help. The shattered remains of his bow decorated the ground below him.

Accepting defeat without his weapon, he slid off his rhino to shelter himself from his own arrows, leaving his two remaining allies to defend him.

Jet and the Shadow – not a shadow, a man dressed in black clothes and a blue mask, familiar in a way she couldn’t place – fought side by side, watching each other’s backs. Jet was focused on the firebender, while the Shadow deflected the bombardier’s explosives, sending them back at him.

Both of them fought hard but with limited success – Jet was shifting constantly to dodge the Firebender’s blasts, stuck on the defensive, one arm deadweight with blood darkening the cloth; while the Shadow’s hits were useless against the bombardier’s heavy armour, and getting slower besides. If he was injured, she couldn’t tell through the dark cloth and expressionless mask.

Smellerbee moved to join them, running across the rhino’s back, but was forced back by an errant fire blast. When she’d blinked away the scorching white, Jet was on the ground, and the Shadow was alone in the fight. Looking down the street, she saw the fourth mercenary, the one with the bolas, returning on his newly calmed Komodo Rhino.

She diverted from the men to deal with Jet, dragging him out of the way of the stomping feet of the Komodo Rhinos and beating his smouldering shirt. Blood dribbled from the back of his head. He didn’t react to her ministrations.

The arrows had stopped again, for good this time. Longshot was at ground level, throwing Jet across his shoulders, and pulling her away from the ongoing fight to hide in an alleyway. He bled from multiple scratches across his arms and chest, where he hadn’t quite managed to dodge the incoming arrows.

Behind them came a sharp cry, as the Shadow fell from the back of a rhino, blown away by an explosive. He landed on the other side of the street, unmoving.

Closer to them, his weapons fell with a clatter.

Dual dao. Blue handled, expertly cared for. Expertly wielded.

_(No, it couldn’t be…)_

Across the street, the mercenaries grabbed the Shadow where he was lain. Like a puppet with its strings cut, the powerful swordsman was limp in their arms, manhandled into steel cuffs and slung over the back of a rhino.

The mask had been removed and was thrown away into the street any old rubbish. It landed at her feet, blue face scowling at her with white fangs and red eyes. The Blue Spirit. Behind the fearsome mask was pale skin, like that of a corpse, and a noble face, one side angry even when unconscious.

She didn’t know how she didn’t realise it before; why she’d thought there was any other person it could be.

Struggling to breathe through her broken armour, with a disarmed Longshot and unconscious Jet beside her, she watched the mercenaries drag Li away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos comment subscribe please it absolutely makes my day  
> Can you guys tell that i dont like writing action? It's meant to be choppy and fast, but i had too many elements going on to do that so i just focused on Smellerbee instead. Good thing this series is based on emotion and not action, i guess?  
> this wasn't meant to take as long as it did, but i knew there was going to be action and just worked on literally everything else, including 2 projects I'd planned on being done with.  
> I might end up smushing the plans for chapters 5 and 6 together for the next instalment, making it the last on desperation - the sooner this is done, the sooner we can get onto the fluffy emotional bonding stuff (and the angst is so much sweeter when the characters care about each other). It'll be a few weeks, 3 at the most I'd say, but it depends on how long it gets, especially if I'm smushing 5 and 6  
> I have tumblr now! It's mostly muffinlance fanart, if I'm honest, but I've got a few doodles related to my own work planned, and I can give out updates on stuff to come if y'all ask. Come and yell at me there! https://foiblepnoteworthy.tumblr.com/  
> (someone please tell me how to add pictures on ao3 like im also putting them on tumblr but like...hlep)


	5. Potential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko knows no one is going to help him.  
> Jet's desperate to fix his mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guys i finished it its finished you guys did you see it i finished it its done this is the longest thing ive ever done and its finished see i did it this is a finished thing how the fuck did i manage this...
> 
> also, warnings for (SPOILERS!!) descriptions of injuries and people dying I guess

Jet awoke to the rapid-fire pecking of a furious ostrich-horse. Smellerbee and Longshot gave it a second to work out its anger before they pulled it away from him.

Song, now unable to peck her vicious revenge upon he-who-took-baby-chick, slumped on the ground with a mournful wail.

Jet sat up, wincing as he pulled on some unknown injury on his left shoulder. He opened his mouth to ask them _what in the name of the spirits happened?_ because he couldn’t remember anything beyond _fighting_ , but when he tried to speak all that came out was a low groan at the sudden pounding sensation in his skull.

He fought to stay upright and to keep his stomach where he wanted it, closing his eyes and counting his breaths.

When he opened his eyes, everything was swimming. From what little he could see, Smellerbee and Longshot were the opposite of sympathetic to his situation. He must have fucked up somehow.

“What did I do?” he managed to ask.

The half-glares continued. Then: “You fucked up. Severely.”

Well, at least he was right about something. It wasn’t a reassurance.

***

Smellerbee, aware that a lecture is only ever wasted when her victim couldn't hear her, waited for Jet to look semi-conscious before she started whisper-yelling. 

_“What were you thinking?”_

He wasn’t.

“You threw yourself into battle at – quite literally – the worst time possible!”

Jet blinked at her. Maybe he still wasn’t awake enough for a lecture. “What happened?” he asked.

The idiot had the audacity to look _sorry_. Sure, he definitely needed to be, but it wasn’t fair on her to have to see that expression before she was done grilling him. (She knew it was going to hurt him, remembering what he did, but she knew she couldn’t let it happen again, knew she had to make it hurt to be sure it could never happen again.)

She reminded herself of what Jet had done, saw Li’s limp form in her mind’s eye, and steeled herself for the shouting match.

***

Zuko tried to take some satisfaction from his captors being too injured to risk transporting him.

It almost made the cell - the damp and dark and _cold_ cell – worth it. The chains, not so much. The men had put so much effort into holding him that it could actually work – he was, after all, an expert in breaking _into_ places; he didn’t have any practice at breaking out. Of course he’d let himself get into this much trouble the first time in three years he didn’t have Uncle there to watch his back.

He’d just have to sort it out himself. He’d broken into far tougher places before, with far worse injuries – the siege of the Northern Water Tribe came to mind – one little cell in a petty Earth Kingdom village wasn’t going to stop him.

He’d break out of here, just as soon as his breath evened out.

(His left side ached, the pain turning sharp whenever he took anything but the shallowest of breaths. He couldn’t sit himself up, couldn’t adjust how his ribs sat, not when he could barely keep his eyes open - not when his hands were attached to the wall, the thick iron manacles only burning him when he tried to melt them.)

(He wasn’t getting out of there, and no one was coming for him. No one, save Azula.)

His breathing only got worse.

***

The battle was a blur of swords and fire and rhinos - of convenient and inconvenient arrows showing up at random intervals, of a shadow at his back, quick, lethal, silent. How much of that fight was real?

Jet had been angry – _furious_ – in a way he’d previously thought he'd managed to shed - but he didn’t know _why._

“What did I do?” he asked again.

“We were planning,” Smellerbee said, pacing in front of where he was sat in a dusty alleyway. “It was five of them to the three of us, and we knew they’d have some bark to their bite if they were after Li – intimidation or brute strength wouldn’t work with _him_ , y’know – and then you just jumped right at them, no warning for us or anything,” she leaned forwards, poking him in the forehead, “No plan, no _nothing_.”

He could remember planning. He felt the rough brick of the rooftop they’d hidden on under his palms, remembered Longshot’s quip about Li on the posters, his anger at the men for bullying the villagers – but not enough anger for him to fly off the handle like that.

He remembered the backup arriving, an archer and-

_“SHIT!”_

It couldn’t be… he couldn’t have…

But it was.

And he did.

Jet clutched at his head as the ache pulsed sharply. The blur of the fight crystallised into sharp fragments – dodging fire blasts, striking in at the man _(that man)_ , making him bleed, the shadow behind his back-

“Who was that?” He looked up at his friends. “The other guy? Where did he come from?”

Smellerbee shoved something in his hands, a grinning blue mask, white fangs chipped from the wear-and-tear of fighting.

The Blue Spirit.

The Blue. _Fucking._ Spirit.

He fought alongside _The Blue Spirit._

(There was more to come, he knew; this was only going to get worse. But he couldn’t help the internal squeal of childish glee, the thrill that he had not only met the guy - the man who broke into the Pohuai Stronghold to rescue the Avatar, who’d been stealing from and bothering Fire Nation ships and outposts all across the coast for years, who'd diverted and falsified Fire Nation intelligence to ruin their hunt for the Avatar; the _expert_ in pissing off the Fire Nation - but had watched his back in a fight against the Fire Nation.)

_(The emotional high would only lend velocity to his fall.)_

He was holding The Blue Spirit’s mask. He stared into the empty eyes and angered expression, and they stared back at him.

He looked up at Smellerbee. “Why do we have this?”

Smellerbee raised an eyebrow and said nothing. She was still pissed at him for the stunt he’d pulled.

(And yes, he definitely shouldn’t have done that, but they’d all got out of it okay, and those Fire guys were in way worse shape than them so it would be easy enough to finish them off. Everything had worked out just fine.)

Longshot tapped something on the brim of his hat. But Jet must have misheard.

_(He hadn’t misheard.)_

A cold pit dropped into his stomach. (Strange, how fire always made him so _cold_ inside.)

“He was captured.” Jet spoke to the mask in a hollow voice, preferring its vicious grin to his friends’ judging looks. “Because of me.”

None of them would have been in that situation if it wasn’t for him. They could have dealt with those guys safely - no one would have been hurt, The Blue Spirit wouldn’t have been captured.

(They wouldn't have had this delay in getting back to Li, who might leave if they're not back in time.)

The three of them had only been in that situation to protect Jet. Jet was supposed to be the one protecting _them._

“Yup,” Smellerbee agreed with all his horrible and fair thoughts, “Now the Fire Nation knows what he looks like.”

His eyes itched. His throat burned like it was full of smoke.

Smellerbee didn’t relent.

(He deserved it. That was the thing about this – this was just the consequences of his actions, entirely preventable, entirely his fault. She wouldn’t have been digging a hole in his chest if he didn’t deserve it.)

She knelt down to his eye level. “Do you want the worse news?”

“There’s worse news?” _How could this get any worse?_

Her voice softened a little. Her expression didn’t. “If you need a minute first-”

“Just tell me.” Best to take all the hits in succession, he decided, than to drag this out.

Smellerbee took his chin, gently, turning his head towards Song the Ostrich-Horse.

 _Li’s_ Ostrich-Horse.

Wait - why was she-

_Oh._

Oh no.

***

Zuko bit the inside of his cheek and pretended he didn’t hear the sickening pop of his left thumb dislocating. He allowed himself a few breaths’ rest before pulling his injured hand out of the manacle, suppressing a whimper at the pressure placed upon the tender joint.

He pulled himself to sit upright, bracing himself with the heel of his hand against the floor, pretending to himself that every movement of his hand wasn't _absolute agony_. He stretched out his torso, breathing deeply and carefully poking at his injured ribs. They hurt like a mother, but nothing was moving around in there. They were probably ~~(not)~~ just bruised. It wasn't bad enough to keep him from fighting; he could work with this.

He inspected his still manacled hand, forcing down a wave of nausea and an ugly urge to sob at what he saw. The shackle was attached to the wall, instead of being attached to the other shackle and wrapped around something. Which meant his hand was still attached, and he’d have to free it in the same way.

He took a deep breath and forced down the worry. He had to get out of there, or things would get much worse. He had to do what he had to do to escape. It wasn't worth worrying about what he was going to do. He didn't have a choice. 

He tore a strip of fabric from his tunic to bite down on, and a few more to wrap around his left wrist, where he’d burned himself earlier trying to melt the manacle. Slipping the cuff had opened up the sores, a layer of skin clinging to the heated metal.

He couldn’t delay himself any more.

He took a hold of his injured thumb with his good hand, ready to force it back into place. (It was a good policy to always have at least one (semi-)functioning thumb.)

He closed his eyes, biting down pre-emptively, and-

His cell door opened. One of the Rough Rhinos stood in the doorway, a jug of water in hand and a bowl in the other.

There was a long awkward silence. Zuko calculated how long it would take to fix this thumb, pop out his right one, slip the other cuff and knock the guy out.

He wouldn’t have enough time.

He felt overly conscious of his mouth full of fabric. His hunched crouch on the dirty floor. His obvious – _weak_ – pain at dislocating his thumb.

The man – the archer, he had the Yuyan tattoos (but still no bow, he was satisfied to see) – put the jug and bowl on the floor, then stepped out the room to yell for one of the others, who quickly came to help him.

Zuko didn't bother fighting when the firebender showed up, hands already lit in preparation for a fight.

The firebender replaced his shackles, half-melting and warping the metal with his bending, making them tighter – too tight for him to slip again. He made sure to do this while Zuko’s hands were _in_ the shackles, not bothering to cool the metal afterwards, and refusing to leave Zuko his rags to protect his wrists.

Though he couldn't see it past the metal, Zuko knew the circles around his wrists – over an inch thick - would scar.

They took the food with them when they left, giving him a kick to his injured ribs instead.

Zuko tried to take a deep breath - to centre himself; to push the pain aside and make a new plan - but it caught on the way out. On his ribs or a sob, he wasn’t quite sure.

He tried to sit up, but his ribs failed him. His struggles jostled his wrists, his still dislocated thumb, added to the strain on his shoulders brought on by their position. He tried to breathe through the pain, but deep breaths were impossible.

He couldn’t get out in this state. There was no way for him to escape - he’d abandoned Uncle and his crew was dead and his boat was gone and _no one_ was looking for him.

But, Agni, that wasn’t true – he only _wished_ no one was looking for him. Azula would be there soon enough.

And he wasn’t going to escape.

***

“There’s only one entrance-”

“-but a window in a cell at the end of the block-”

_“Is it his?”_

“I don’t know.”

“We’ll have to scout it out-”

“We don’t have the time-”

_“We can’t afford to mess this up. We have to do it properly.”_

A sigh. “I know. But the thought of him in there-”

“We all know who’s fault that is-”

“I’m worried about him. I don’t want to leave him there any longer than we have to.”

_“We won’t. We’ll be on the road by morning.”_

***

There was something going on. A brief shout down the hall; a crunch of metal on stone; the soft twang of a bowstring (but he'd destroyed the archer's bow, hadn't he?).

Swift pattering footsteps approached his cell. Zuko clenched his fists behind his back, twitching as he broke the scabs on his wrists, wincing at the movement to his thumb. He tried to brace himself for whatever was coming, levelling a glare at the door (unable to do much else).

The door opened, and he found himself glaring at nothing. He lowered his gaze to find Smellerbee, of all people, backlit by the braziers in the hall. In one hand, she held a short dagger. The other, a bundle, which she dropped on the ground.

He blinked. “What?”

_What was she doing here?_

Her face broke into a relieved grin. Rushing towards him, she dropped to her knees and wrapped her arm around him in a hug. He stiffened in the unfamiliar hold.

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” she shouted in his ear.

This didn’t make any sense. “Why are you here?”

She pulled back and gave him a confused look. “Because Jet and Longshot need to keep the other Rhino guys off our backs while I get you out. Plus, I’m the best at picking locks.”

Without further ado, she settled behind him to look at his shackles, hissing between her teeth at the sight of his wrists.

He twisted to try to look at her, not liking her being somewhere he couldn’t see her while she was holding a knife, but his ribs didn’t appreciate the twisting. He sucked in a pained breath and forced himself to stop.

There was a click as the right shackle came off, taking some skin with it. He brought his hand in front of him gratefully, shaking out his shoulder and checking on his wrist. The top layer of skin was torn, mostly gone, though it was hard to be certain under the blood. Some of the remaining scabs were black and flaky, like burnt pig-chicken.

Smellerbee moved to his other side. She paused, taking a gentle hold of his forearm. He tried not to whimper as she jostled his thumb, harsh with it in her ignorance, sending pain like hot liquid rushing almost to his elbow.

Or maybe that was just the blood as the scabs split apart.

“Spirits, Li,” she half-whispered, almost to herself. “Why would you do that to yourself? You had to know that cuff was too tight.”

“Wasn’t when I did it,” he half-panted, something rough in his throat. “Would have made it out if they hadn’t caught me at it.”

“You didn’t have to at all.” She clucked her tongue, all bossy and huffy at him, while she fiddled with the lock. “What was so wrong with just waiting for us?”

He chuckled despite himself. “That’s a pretty quick way to die.”

She froze beside him, hands unmoving on his shackle. “You…”

He turned to try to see her, but her face was turned away. He twisted a little too far and remembered why he hadn’t been looking at her in the first place when his ribs screamed at him.

“What?” he asked her instead, no idea why she’d stopped picking the locks. Did he do something wrong? (Had she come here just to leave him trapped? To taunt him and then run off?)

“You’re an idiot,” she said. There was a click as the lock came undone.

She came around to sit in front of him, carefully holding his hand in hers.

“What do you- ah!” he yelped as she popped his thumb back in. He gave her a dirty look as he checked his thumb, rotating it in its socket. (It hurt, but not much - he’d still be able to grip his swords, which was all he needed.)

“Don’t give me that look, you know that was the best way to do it-” he _did_ know that, but no way would he admit it “-and you thought we weren’t coming for you, you big idiot.”

She poked him in the chest.

He frowned. She continued to not make sense. “Why on Earth would I expect you to come for me? That’s not – I don’t even get why you _did_ -”

***

Smellerbee was overcome with an increasing urge to kill everyone Li had ever worked with. Slowly.

She grabbed his good hand – well, his _better_ hand, neither of them were in great shape – and towed him out of the room, stooping to grab the bundle of his swords and mask she’d left at the door and passing them to him.

“Can you fight?”

“Of course.” He gripped his swords with the barest wince, covering his grimace with his mask.

(Was that all the mask was for? Probably not, but she’d have to make sure he didn’t use it to pretend he wasn’t hurt in the future. That seemed like a very _Li_ thing to do.)

He walked on, towards the sounds of conflict. There was something off about the sound of his breathing – hopefully just a minor issue with his ribs, but potentially not. It wasn't like he would tell her if she asked. 

Not that there was anything she could do about it at that moment. She knew he’d join in the fighting regardless of what she said (and with their reduced number, they’d likely be needing his help), and she wouldn't have a chance to patch him up until after the fight, if he'd let her.

Li kept himself at an arm’s length from her, form tense even in the moment of calm before they had to fight. He flinched as she studied him, shying away under her concern, her attention. 

Even now, it wasn’t just the Rhinos he feared.

***

Jet ignored the pain in his chest as his breaths came harder and harder. He was swamped in smoke from when the Firebender’s shots had gone wide, catching on anything nearby. His muscles burned from the prolonged fight, and he felt the ache of injuries that hadn’t even begun to heal.

He ducked away from another fire blast, hiding in the deep shadows made by the moonless night and the overbright flames. The Firebender was easy enough to spot. The man with bolas was tall and broad and loud, his silhouette defined by fire. Jet was smaller and quicker and far less bold - not how he preferred to fight, but the way he had to if he wanted to survive.

(He knew well it wasn't just himself he was protecting, that taste and style had to take a backseat to sheer practicality if he wanted to keep everyone alive. Even weakened, these rhino guys were a huge step up from patrols in a forest and the occasional soldier camp.)

Jet forced himself to stay in the present, not to think about just who he was fighting – he couldn’t afford to think about anything other than protecting his friends.

_(Everything around him was on fire. Everything was ashes and everyone was dying and-)_

The archer was a pool of blood by his feet – an idiot, helpless without his only weapon, who’d wandered into the fight regardless. The bombardier had fallen to Longshot’s arrows, the bowman’s keen eye finding the flaws in his heavy metal armour.

The rhinos themselves had been easy enough to scare away – a flaw Li had exploited before, apparently - which removed his adversaries’ advantages of height and weight and tri-horned-heads.

Jet was focused on keeping the pair from the entrance, keeping them from reaching Bee and Li before they were ready. Assuming Li would even be able to fight. _(Assuming he was still…)_

Longshot occupied one of the men while Jet dealt with the other. They switched as often as they could, kept the men from predicting their attacks. It was a stalemate for the moment, but Jet knew he could only fight for so long before he couldn’t anymore. He just had to hold out until the others were clear. Hopefully, not for much longer.

Jet knew his limits well.

(He knew he didn’t have much longer.)

He sprinted through the shadows to strike at the man with bolas, but, when he reached him, found the action was unnecessary. A grinning Shadow leapt from nowhere to slash at his chest, his movements like smoke as he effortlessly dodged around the deadly weapon.

The man staggered back, clutching at shallow wounds across his torso, his arms. Blood slicked his grip on his chains. He swiped at the Shadow, but the Shadow was nowhere to be seen.

Across the battleground, the Shadow appeared behind the Firebender without warning, the pommel of his sword slamming just above his collarbone. The man choked and his flames sputtered out. The Shadow didn’t bother finishing him off, disappearing again.

Jet only realised he’d stopped fighting just to watch when the mercenary with bolas gurgled behind him, a sword jutting out of his chest. Jet blinked, and noticed Smellerbee by his side, tutting at the Shadow’s actions.

“He really is the Blue Spirit,” Jet said, awed at Li’s skill, his grace, his savagery - and at his own luck for finding him.

“What he _is_ is an idiot,” she grumbled. “He thought we weren’t coming for him – he tried to break out on his own and everything! Plus, he’s gone and done something to his ribs, and now he’s throwing himself into _another_ fight.”

Jet clenched his jaw. He hadn’t even thought that Li wouldn’t trust them, that he would have tried to escape because he thought no one was coming for him, but he really should have known better. If nothing else, they should have considered it when making their plans – what if he’d left before they got there? What if they’d moved him somewhere more secure, or injured him to keep him from trying again?

Li wiped off his swords on the dead man, then strode over to deal with the firebender, who was just getting his breath back and struggling to sit up. Jet watched him slit the man’s throat impassively. The man’s death should have meant something to him, he knew, but he was numb to it. He’d just had a lesson in getting caught up in vengeance, and he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He shrugged off the long-buried grief and wrapped an arm around the kid next to him.

***

They broke him out.

They _broke_ him out.

 _They_ broke _him_ out.

They came here to save him - _what the fuck is going on?_

Zuko glanced over at Jet. He had one arm slung around Smellerbee’s shoulder, and his head swivelled to look between Zuko and Longshot. He was keeping an eye on both of them, reassuring himself that they were all safe, that they were there with him.

For Smellerbee and Longshot, sure, that made sense – they were close friends and, as the leader, Jet was responsible for them. Jet had lost a lot of his friends recently, by the sound of things, and had been with those two for years, and while he trusted them to be able to handle themselves, seeing your friends in danger would make anyone cautious. His protective feelings for them were logical.

…which just made his actions even more illogical. He hadn’t just been risking _himself_ to free Zuko – a person that, by all rights, he should hate – he’d been risking his ‘kids’ for him, too.

Jet had no reason to come for him in the first place - he had to still want something from him, nobody is that selfless. Nobody would do that for a stranger who was only in prison because he fucked up and got caught.

Zuko wasn’t even meant to join the fight in the first place – was only there because he’d done something Jet had specifically asked him not to do, so his fuck-up and subsequent capture was entirely _his_ fault. Jet was under no obligation to help him.

(It was possible that he’d been honest with him before, that he was really just trying to help him, to bring him into his group, to look after him and keep him safe because that’s what he _did,_ apparently. They hadn’t been there to sell him out, after all, so they must have been there to take those guys out, to protect him.

Maybe he actually could be trusted.)

None of this made sense. He didn’t deserve to have them come after him.

What did they want in return? What could he possibly give them?

***

The fight was over; or, at least, one of the fights was over. They’d taken themselves outside of the town - to leave and make camp, Jet had thought; to argue, Li had decided.

They’d had one moment of calm as Song curled her neck around her little-baby-chick-Li, as Li whispered kind words to her and petted her beak with one hand, stroking her back with the other, but it was broken quickly enough when he remembered that the rest of them were still there.

He was unwilling – _unable_ – to accept that they just wanted to help him. That they wanted to make up for getting him put in there in the first place.

“Why are you so invested in me anyway?” he half-yelled at Jet in frustration as their argument circled. “People don’t just… people don’t do things like that – not for strangers. Not-” He cut himself off, something like grief on his face. He refused to understand – couldn’t understand. “What do you _want_ from me?”

He watched them closely, posture tense, expression lost. His hand twitched towards the swords at his hip. Jet watched the twitch, pushed back the hurt – Li was just scared; it was too soon to expect someone like him to trust. Not even after everything that had happened. A gesture like that – a gesture of simply _fixing their own mistake_ – was too big for him to understand. He couldn’t see that helping him was the _right_ thing to do, that Jet was _responsible_ for what had happened, that _anyone_ with their skill set would have done the same thing.

Jet just had to work harder. He’d have Li’s trust eventually.

He wished he could just throw some pretty words at the problem and hide in the vaguery. It would have worked with Katara. It _had_ worked with his kids, over and over again, for years upon years _~~(until it suddenly hadn’t).~~_ It had become second nature, almost, after so many years of lying for people’s best interests.

It would be the fastest way to drive Li away.

“You’re just like all the rest of my kids,” he said instead, struggling to hold his gaze _(but he wouldn’t let_ words _stop him)_. “They were…”

(Past tense. Not that he could have finished that sentence anyway.)

Li’s eyes were attentive on his face, scrutinising his expression, judging his honesty. He was listening.

That was good because this would be too difficult to repeat; he’d barely even spoken to Smellerbee and Longshot about what had happened, about what they and everyone else had meant to him. The words burned like acid – like fire – in the back of his throat. But they’d be worth saying if it got Li to stick around.

“I did something stupid,” he said, “nearly got us all killed. Not – not everyone made it out. And what I’d done – what I’d tried to do… thank the spirits I failed. It was-” He paused and took a breath. “In trying to do what I thought was right, I almost did something awful. And I didn’t even see it and-”

He stopped. The worst of it was over, he knew, but he’d never let himself think about all the people – the innocent people he was supposed to _protect_ – he’d almost killed. Murdered.

He’d never acknowledged that what he’d done was wrong, that he hadn’t known the difference between right and wrong - and for how long? How long did he spend doing awful things without realising? Even now he couldn’t be sure.

(What did he teach his kids? How many things did he do wrong – things he still couldn’t see? Was he a good person yet? Would he ever be? Did he deserve to be?)

“I need to do something good, for someone.” He looked up at Li and met his eyes. Li returned the look steadily. “I need to rebuild what I had, but to do it for the right reasons this time – I want to lead people again, but to _help_ them, and not for the sake of having followers, of having that… that _power_ … I want to have people around me, to look after them - but I want to do it for _them_ , not for me. I want to try to do the right thing, again.

“I… I need to prove to myself that I’m not ruined for it, that I can-”

“I understand,” Li said, and Jet could see in his face, instantly, that he did. “I’ve done some things… things that I don’t feel proud of; things that were supposed to be the right thing. Or maybe they weren’t, the thing is that I can’t tell either. I-” He broke eye-contact, leaning back against Song.

“I want to fix things with my enemies, assure them that I’m done with fighting them, that they don’t have to worry about me showing up and ruining their day anymore - but that’s… it’s _wrong_. I can’t. Switching sides, abandoning my…”

He didn’t seem to know how to finish that sentence, didn’t know what to think about whatever he’d been doing before - or whoever he may have been working with.

“The more I think about it – about what I _tried_ to do, and what I _did_ in trying - the less proud I am… but I’m not ready to make reparations either, even though I know exactly how to do that.”

His hand dropped away from his swords, one coming up to rub at the opposite arm. His voice dropped lower. “I think I was loyal to the wrong people.” His left hand twitched upwards, towards his face, seemingly without his consent or knowledge. Jet couldn’t keep his eyes from darting to his scar, and his stomach clenched at the implications.

“I don’t know that I wouldn’t go running back to them if they told me they’d take me. That I wouldn’t go back to trying to complete my mission if the opportunity presented itself. I know people would be hurt if I succeeded, people that I _know_ aren’t as bad as I’d been told - a threat and an enemy, perhaps, but evil?”

His hands twisted together in front of him, the movement seemingly unconscious.

Behind him, Song nudged him gently, comfortingly. He barely seemed to notice her.

(Jet wondered if the kids who’d left him - the kids who’d _survived_ – would say the same thing about him. That they shouldn’t have trusted him and he’d led them astray and they regretted their loyalty. Jet wondered if he was the right person for Li to work with – maybe he could be, and Li could be perfect for him in turn, with them both being conscious of the other's flaws... or perhaps their interlocking baggage would drag them both down a dark path.

But Li didn’t have anywhere else to go. It was them or death as long as they were travelling. Jet couldn’t let him leave, even if it would be for his own good, in the long run, not when he'd die in the short run. All he could do was hope it would work out for the best.)

“Even though,” Li continued, faster now, too caught up in explaining his actions, possibly for the first time, “Even though I know I should really be trying to make it up to the people I hurt, and I know that I can, that there are so many ways I can help them, so many things I could do for them that no others could do and it would be so easy and they’re… well, they don’t like me but some of them would be willing to listen, I think.” He took a deep breath, then let it out; his eyes fixed on the ground. “I could fix things so easily.”

His guilt spilled into the air with too many words, rushing out of him after being bottled up for far too long.

Li’s breath caught with some emotion. “But if I do that I’m a traitor and…” he swallowed, hands twisting themselves around each other. “I’m not ready to start being a good person and it’s horrible to know that – but would I be a good person, making amends with my enemies? Or would it be wrong – _I don’t know._

“It scares me,” he said, “Not being able to trust myself to do the right thing, not knowing what even _is_ right anymore,” he looked up to meet Jet’s eye again. There was a little more strength in his voice when he next spoke. “I still don’t think I’m someone you want, not if you knew the full story, but... maybe we can help each other.”

_Someone Li had trusted had taught Li that the wrong thing was right, and he was struggling to muddle it out for himself._

Even so, Jet’s next breath came easily, more so than it had in months. He had a chance to try this again, to heal someone who’d been hurt in the same way Jet had hurt his kids in the past. It stung, but he knew he needed Li beside him.

“You’ll stick around then?” he asked.

Li flinched, softness vanishing at the thought of commitment.

Jet eased up a little. He’d been willing to settle before, and it seemed that the best way to keep Li happy was to avoid tying him down. “The next town, then?”

The tension dropped from his shoulders easily. Jet remembered the time one of his kids had found a little racoon-cat, how it would go limp if you scratched its itches in just the right way (how it would claw and scratch, hurting itself more than its keepers, if you held it too tightly - until the fateful day it scratched so hard that one of his kids had dropped it from a treetop platform).

“The next town, at least,” he offered a half-smile. “But I’m…not opposed to Ba Sing Se. Maybe I could be a good person there.”

Jet laid a careful hand on his shoulder and Li didn’t even flinch. He pulled him into a half hug. Li smiled, one hand coming up to return the gesture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos comment subscribe to the main series not to this because this is finished!!!!!
> 
> oh my fucking god you guys i fuckin did it  
> this bitch is dead! I killed her and ate her guts and now she's gone and done because i finished her  
> this has been just the hardest part of the series to write for me, the scenes just weren't coming to me in ways that most of the ones in future instalments will
> 
> Schedule! Next part will be up in two weeks, its hella fluffy so have fun with that  
> (If you want more details on what's coming up there's a(n almost) full overview in the series notes.)
> 
> (Sidenote: part one of the next instalment is 4K words somehow (it just kept getting longer), but part 2 is only like 1.5? It's still coming out two weeks after part 1 because I need to spread everything out to avoid big long hiatuses.)
> 
> I've got a lot of prewritten chapters to bring out next, so they'll be every 2 weeks rather than every 3 like I've been doing just now. What I've got prewritten should carry me until the summer, at which point I'll have more writing time, (edit: because of the coronavirus my uni exams are cancelled?? idk how thats gonna affect my schedule at the mo because its all a bit up in the air right now) and in the meantime, I'll be working on getting future chapters ready in advance and on finishing off the Non-Evil Twin series.  
> (Zuko convinces the GAang he's his own twin brother; its a comedy and very dumb i promise you'll like it, go check it out.)
> 
> Also, I'm planning on giving a biggish edit to this, as well as Lies and Letting Go (for them its mostly just adding in details about Song being there, and also tweaking some points about everyone's emotions and fears now that I understand them all a little bit better). The edits won't change anything about the story, they'll just help blend the parts together a little more, but I thought I should give y'all a little heads up.
> 
> So! What did you like, what did you hate, did I do everything properly or is there something I need to give another tweak to?
> 
> check out my Tumblr for doodles related to this and my other works (also fanart of other avatar fanfic authors), or if you have any questions for me - https://foiblepnoteworthy.tumblr.com/


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